My Dear (Aziraphale x Crowley)
by Sweetner
Summary: After Armageddon, the rest of life is lonely. Crowley sits around; Aziraphale drinks. The truth of existence is either one of two things — love from a distance or do something about it.


Armageddon was supposed to be the war to end all wars. It was supposed to be the clashing of Heaven and Hell, the grand conclusion to The Almighty's Ineffable plan. Ineffable.

It certainly had been.

No one could have predicted what would actually transpire - all except Agnes Nutter, Witch, within her book of the Nice and Accurate Prophecies - which, to a point, had known exactly what would happen. And despite the mulling of either side in their disgruntled disappointment, the cosmic scales felt…. equal, once more. No one got their war, and the Earth remained untouched, and despite the peace that many humans would have been thankful for - had the lot of them even known that the world had almost been destroyed - it was almost boring, for lack of a better term. At least for the Ethereal, or the Damned.

But it was better than being displaced. Earth had been their home for thousands of years, and within their time turning native among the mortals, both angel and demon had found one another and kindled nothing short of a lasting friendship.

As they sat on the bench in St. James' Park, the Pavlovian ducks chirping away at each other and swimming circles in their nothingness, the two men had clasped hands, switching their forms back to their own selves.

"I can't believe it worked," Crowley mused. Even while he was taking the form of Aziraphale, he continued to lean back against the bench, his ankle crossed over the opposite knee and his arm stretched out, behind the other.

"We performed remarkably, I presume." Aziraphale seemed delighted that their scheme had worked, and the pair had avoided their individual punishments. And even though the angel might not quite have realized it yet in full, he was more delighted at the idea that it wasn't the last time he would be able to see Crowley.

After sending off the gifts of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the two had come to an impasse as deciding where Aziraphale was going to be staying if his bookshop had burned down. But in the time that Adam had changed reality, his bookshop had also come back into fruition, and when Aziraphale returned home he found everything as it was, in addition to a few new pieces scattered around the shop.

And so Crowley returned home, to his Bentley in full repair and his plants gleaming, no dark spots and still shivering in fear.

And as life settled back to normal, it became increasingly lonely and…. Well, normal. With Heaven and Hell both minding their business and leaving the "traitors" alone, Crowley and Aziraphale both understood that their lives were going to become a bit more uneventful.

They had each other and that was it. Crowley had been right those years ago, they were on their own side now. They had no one else and as Crowley saw it, that was that and there needn't be any other.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, griped morally with what had transpired at what was supposed to be Armgaddeon - the abandonment that he felt from the faith he had been raised on. He contemplated seeking sympathy from Crowley, but sympathy wasn't one of the top ten words that came to mind when considering what the demon represented. And neither was "faith" - although Crowley had been an angel and never really intended to fall, his grace even when he had been ethereal was less than impressive. He had never truly believed. The Almighty was a figurehead to take orders from, and as he filled them, the cynicism was what inevitably drove him towards darker company.

Never in his wildest dreams had he ever considered that one day the person he would care most about would be a devote Angel. And yet Crowley was prideful and stubborn, and despite the loosening affections they were beginning to have towards one another, the demon continued to cling to some kind of emotional barrier.

He missed Aziraphale. But they saw each other constantly - more so than they had in the last six millennia. Almost once a year, and that was plentiful. He shouldn't need to see anyone more than that. He had himself, and his car, and his plants and his house in London that he barely ever stayed at. But he had no purpose. No orders to fill from down below, no problem to fix or higher authorities to avoid. No responsibilities to deflect.

He was alone and free. And he didn't know what to do with himself.

Aziraphale, too, was facing a similar issue. Although he only used to really drink alcohol with company, this evening the bookshop sign read "Closed," and so was Aziraphale's consciousness. Opening the second bottle of wine, he tipped the edge against the wine glass that rested firmly in his tightening grip, focusing a bit too hard on not spilling the liquid that it eventually did, ever so slightly, splattering gently against the wood of the desk and onto the beige tint of his jacket.

"Bugger," he murmured, swearing for his standards, and he cursed himself internally for letting himself go like this. Armegeddon was not resting easily with him, even now years later, and he didn't understand why.

Aziraphale was a good angel, as he had been raised by the Almighty and the Archangels and he had always done what he thought to be the right thing. He had never intended for things to get as messy as they had, and yet everything had worked out. Perfectly so. The two of them were free to do their own bidding and live the rest of their existences free from the turmoil of the lives they had been born into - or, rather, found themselves in, in Crowley's case - but there was such a large weight that hung over the angel's head, as if he wasn't deserving to be there.

He was supposed to be dead. If Heaven had had its way, he would have been blown out of existence by Hellfire to be made "an example of."

Was that the Ineffable Plan? Was he supposed to not exist anymore? Had he betrayed God just as he felt God had betrayed him? For years he had interpreted the word of Higher Powers as merciful and right, and yet at the precipice of the end, they had shown their true colors. Earth didn't mean anything to anyone and was simply a battleground for them to demonstrate their plights.

Crowley and Aziraphale were the only ones that seemed to actually care.

They had both fallen in love with Earth and the existence of Humanity - and once again, even though Crowley would never admit it, he was more so native and accustomed to the wellbeing of the world than even Aziraphale.

The angel stood up, unbuttoning the front of his vest and shrugging it off, running his fingers off the stain and watching as the dark shade lifted itself from the material. Smiling to himself gently, he admired his handiwork and then turned back towards the bottle of wine, picking up the glass and taking a hefty swallow. He was under the influence to be sure, more so than he thought he had ever been, and because of that when there was a knock on the door he didn't trust that he had heard it right. It was probably his mind playing tricks on itself -

Then it came again, this time a little louder.

"Uh, Aziraphale-" The voice was familiar, and the angel's face softened.

"Oh, erm-" he muttered to himself, standing suddenly - a bit too suddenly - and gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. He was drunk. Drunk, drunk, drunk, and he was too drunk to even consider the fact that he could have sobered up in a second if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, despite the fact that Crowley was standing outside his door.

But he wasn't ashamed to be inebriated in front of the demon. In fact, they had drunk together plenty of times and it was no worries - he was a demon, for Christ's sake — Lord forgive him —- but there was immediately an awkwardness that had never been there before when Aziraphale opened the door to the bookshop.

He was visibly drunk, swaying from side to side gently and beaming as soon as their eyes connected, Crowley's behind his usual dark shades.

"C-Cr- OH- ley- " Aziraphale stammered, hiccuping in the middle of his greeting and blushing as a result. "Oh, I'm sorry, I - HIC - didn't mean to have company over tonight - HIC - "

Crowley raised an eyebrow, leaning back on his heels. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He couldn't think of anything to say, for once.

Instead, he entered the bookshop as Aziraphale stepped back away from the entrance and stumbled, leaning on a bannister and blushing even harder. The blood vessels in his face were practically bursting at the embarrassment that the angel was feeling, and in his frenzy he finally managed to steady himself and turn around to face the demon.

"Why are you here- I mean, it's a lovely surprise, Crowley, you're of course always welcome —-"

"- Yeah, I, uh, can come back if you want-"

"-N-No, don't be outrageous, make yourself comfortable dear friend-"

The bookshop was in a state of disarray that Crowley had never witnessed before. Aziraphale was usually immaculately clean and organized - besides the obvious unwelcoming feeling the front of the store poured out, to drive away business because as always, Aziraphale didn't like to part with his books - and yet now the place seemed genuinely forgotten and mistreated. Like it hadn't actually been lived in.

But unlike Crowley's place, it was used and abused and neglected. There wasn't any care put into anything anymore. There was a forlorn sense of loss that permeated his surroundings, and immediately Crowley felt himself growing concerned for the angel.

Instead of taking a seat, he stood pensive for a second, folding his hands into his pockets and taking a slightly nervous stance.

Crowley cared about Aziraphale. He always had. The friendship that they had grown over the years was special to him, and although it wasn't always obviously reciprocated, the demon had always known that the other appreciated him just as much. They understood each other more than their own sides ever had, and they relished in their mutual love and protectiveness of Earth. Their Home.

And yet recently, in the wake of attempted Armageddon and their journey together — in which Crowley had genuinely believed he had lost his best friend — he was beginning to consider Aziraphale in different ways.

He didn't know how he considered Aziraphale. His feelings were confusing and he didn't know what to make of them himself - he wasn't good at this sort of thing - but he felt drawn to the angel and he enjoyed his company. He wanted his company. He felt safer and happier and more himself when they were together. And he was sick of being alone.

The best moments of the last six millennia were when Aziraphale and Crowley were together. It was odd how the opposite nature of their beings pulled them closer at the strangest moments.

And yet there was always that pull.

Despite the fact that Aziraphale was drunk, and Crowley was stone cold sober, it was the demon that acted more out of turn than the other.

"Are you feeling alright?" He questioned, hesitant and raw as he felt himself pulling away from the situation. There was something there, he could feel it, and it made him so uncomfortable. As if something was about to happen that he couldn't stop - call it fate - but it was definitely the sort of thing Agnes would have made a prophecy about.

And she actually had. But neither of them had any idea about it.

Aziraphale's face scrunched up as they once again made eye contact, this time more intense and a bit more urgent. There was something deep within Crowley's stare that made the angel retort almost hazily, "Why, of course, I'm…. feeling pleasantly well."

Although he didn't sound so certain. Aziraphale could also feel the strangeness of their encounter. The angel had also missed the demon terribly and was always delighted whenever they ran across one another. And yet both of them were too prideful and unaccustomed to really know how to express the want to be together. To spend time together and be in each other's company -

"Aziraphale, I think you should sober up-" There was a sternness to his voice, a fake determination, as if a mother scolding her child, and the angel blew him off as he turned around once more, stumbling away from the demon.

"Crowley, I assure you, my dear friend, I'm f-fine- HIC—"

"No, really, listen to me-"

He wanted to talk to him. Aziraphale was the only other being in existence who would understand what he felt, and even though he didn't know if he was ready to even admit to himself how he felt, there was a nagging pressure that he wanted to get something off of his mind, as if it was a secret. This stupid oaf was his best friend and yet he felt that they were further apart than they had been in years -

Crowley narrowed his slitted eyes — removing his sunglasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket — and they glowed a gentle yellow in the dim light of the bookshop when Aziraphale once again ignored him.

"Aziraphale, please-" Crowley didn't think he had ever had such a needy tone with anyone, ever, and yet in Aziraphale's condition, he didn't notice. He waved his hand and shook his head and when Crowley reached his spindly fingers out towards the angel, wrapping them around his wrist, the other reaching forward for his waist, Aziraphale was surprised when he found himself having no choice but to look Crowley dead in the face.

His eyes had at first been slightly unnerving for the angel. The first time they had met — in the Garden of Eden, when Crowley transformed from the tempting serpent into the lanky man that he truly was — Aziraphale had fumbled for a moment upon seeing him, not remembering demons having yellow eyes. And the slits. But he had always pinned it on him truly being the original Sin. The Snake that lead the first humans astray. And as Aziraphale had once been a naive and new angel who feared anything that didn't follow God's plan, Crowley and his eyes scared him. They sent a dark chill into his being that almost put the fear of the Almighty into him, ironically. Or more, the fear of what happened in the absence of the Almighty into him.

But now, Crowley's eyes entranced him and drew him closer. They were welcoming and warm and in his drunken form, he leaned closer to his friend, a small smile tugging at his lips even as he admired Crowley's features.

It was one of those moments that was now or never. Crowley didn't think that he would ever be able to really express what he felt in words - words were never his strong suit, and he had always been more of an action kind of guy - and when Aziraphale leaned closer and grinned he felt a tinge of pain, of longing and sadness that crept up from the base of his spine and rooted itself into his chest, blooming into his lungs and almost forcing a sob out of the his mouth.

Go- No, Satan, - or whoever's Sake it was, for fuck's sake, he loved this stupid, beautiful angel and he hated himself for it. He loved this man that had been his closest and only friend and partner through all of existence and he felt like he couldn't get close enough.

Their noses almost touched, and Crowley heard Aziraphale breathe in deeply. It was almost an affirmation that yes, I know what you're going to do, and Crowley tilted his head slightly, replying with Finally.

Keeping his eyes open — but barely — Aziraphale leaned into the chaste kiss that Crowley gave him, extremely apprehensive and yet filled with enough desire to make the angel's knees tremble as he clung desperately to the other. Whether this was because he was enamored with the simple gentleness of Crowley's lips - something he didn't think was possible - or the alcohol that was surging in his veins, his fingertips dug into Crowley's forearms, which stayed locked to his hip and the other on his arm.

It seemed to last a lot longer than it did, in actuality. And that was more so because Aziraphale was the one that cut it off.

"I- I-" he grumbled, hastily, backing away from Crowley and running a hand through his white hair. "I- I- You-"

He couldn't get out much more than that. He was taken aback by the suddenness of the action, of the confession of feelings, and yet how deep down he felt something stir within himself, a desire that matched Crowley's. And it scared him.

He avoided the demon's eyes, those pretty yellow slits that had widened in anxiety and sudden panic.

He was being rejected. He thought he liked it, that it had been mutual, he had smelled the pleasure from Aziraphale, he had felt his heart beat faster —

"I…. I- this is … is wrong-" Aziraphale blurted out. Crowley shook his head, his hands splayed and his pose defensive. He was beginning to grow annoyed, more than anything. At the same instance, Aziraphale was wondering if it was normal for angels to feel the need to puke.

"What's wrong about it?" Crowley hissed, and it did indeed come out as a hiss, snake-like and reverent and heart broken. He was going to lose his best friend. He had shattered everything they were in that moment.

"We're…. Friends, and we're …. we're men, God never intended-"

"-God? GOD? After all this, you want to tell me God-"

"- I can't, it isn't right, it isn't natural-"

"- Then what do you want me to do, smack on a pair of tits to make you feel better about it?"

The crudeness of the statement made the angel wince as if in pain, and yet it wasn't so much the fact that demons could choose any gender, any form or shape that they wanted to represent themselves that really mattered, it was the simple face that Crowley would have done anything to gain Aziraphale's love and acceptance at that moment. He would have changed anything about himself just to feel okay.

He would have taken the form of a woman - which he loathed - if it meant Aziraphale would be okay with him.

Crowley had never cried. Not once. And this was the first time in his entire existence he felt the hot sting of tears at the back of his eyes, and he resented it. He resented the whole situation — he resented himself for being so naive as to think he could ever be happy, he resented Aziraphale for being drunk and irrational and so blindly ignorant, he resented God for doing it to him, and he resented whatever it was that gave him such a longing for the angel. He resented the very essence of it.

He wanted it to be okay. And yet he knew it couldn't be - if he didn't get some sort of fulfillment he knew he wouldn't be alright, he knew that feeling of longing would never dissipate and he knew he would never be able to see his friend again. It couldn't ever be the same.

"Aziraphale." Crowley groaned it beneath his breath, choking on the small cry that was holding itself deep down in his throat. He blinked hard, cursing the liquid that was building up, and he cursed himself harder for being so fucking weak. This wasn't what he had planned. Wrapping his arm around his side, Crowley made eye contact with the angel again, and Aziraphale didn't know how to respond.

He had never seen the demon so vulnerable, so unbelievably broken and open at the same time, awaiting whatever punishment the angel wanted to give to him. He would accept anything because he didn't know how else to react - he could never be upset with Aziraphale, he could never —-

"You dumb, stupid, demon, why do you do this to me-" Aziraphale whined, closing his eyes and shaking his head frantically, still in a drunken stupor, and he looked up at the ceiling and even further, to the Heavens.

He had always loved Crowley as well. It had felt right when it had happened but of course Aziraphale's better — and yet worse — judgement had gotten in the way. Maybe this was the Ineffable Plan. Maybe this was the happiness they were supposed to find with each other.

Aziraphale finally reached out and grasped Crowley's arm, pulling it away from his side. Their eyes connected and as soon as Crowley had opened his mouth to ask what was next, huh? They were at an impasse — what were they to do about this mess— their mouths connected as well, and Crowley was surprised at the depth to Aziraphale's passion.

The first one had been nervous, unsure, shaky and indulgent. This one, however, scraped at Crowley's teeth as Aziraphale dragged his lips past them, sucking in the taste of the demon as if they couldn't get close enough. His eyes open his surprise, Aziraphale pulled him down closer, winding his hands around Crowley's nape and into the stringy locks of his red hair.

Crowley had only imagined what Aziraphale sounded like when he moaned. He didn't even think the angel had ever experienced any kind of pleasure in general, and as they continued for a moment, it was confirmed true. Aziraphale was inexperienced and slightly awkward and although the alcohol was helping him to focus more on the instinctive pleasure of kissing, he wasn't tactical at it.

"Aziraphale-" Crowley murmured, between motions, pulling his head away and staring at the angel. The white haired ethereal seemed rather confused as to why they had stopped, and although his thoughts were racing and his heart was pounding and there was enough adrenaline pumping in his veins to kill a normal person, Crowley took charge, pulling Aziraphale closer with his palms iron tight on his hips and tilted his head once again, leading the kiss this time.

"Let me teach you."

Aziraphale blushed once more, the color lighting up his cheeks. They were already more comfortable, acknowledging the attraction between them and yet also allowing Crowley's inevitable dominance to take control. Besides, Aziraphale was aware the demon was more practiced. He had imagined, at least. He didn't mind learning.

He had longed for Aziraphale. His fears seemed to settle back and instead were replaced with the furious desire and ravenous arousal that sat in the base of his stomach, prodding at him and urging him onward. He wanted the angel to feel pleasure - he wanted to be the one to give him his first orgasm, he wanted to watch his face when he came-

He was getting ahead of himself.

Crowley pressed him back against the desk, Aziraphale clinging desperately to the edge from being sent over, eventually taking a seat on the wood and being forced to open his thighs so Crowley could stand between them. The demon didn't hesitate to explore what was untouched — his fingertips pressed into the thick wool of Aziraphale's trousers, feeling the delicate bulge of something, something, something that Aziraphale had never really used before —

He moaned, and it was angelic. Crowley's tongue ran across the top row of Aziraphale's teeth, and although the pair of them were stimulated, their was unending love that poured into one another. Adoration. Admiration.

"You're beautiful," Aziraphale stuttered, opening his eyes and breathing heavily, the end of a whispy moan trailing at the end of the words. "I— Crowley, I-"

The demon didn't know how to react to such words of praise, and instead silenced him with his mouth yet again. And yet Aziraphale just wanted to keep telling him how much he deserved, how special and remarkable he truly was. The demon was, be any standards, kinder than any other ethereal he had ever met.

He was merciful, even as he ran his lips along the angel's jaw, sucking gently at the skin until small blue blossoms of color would inevitably rest there. Aziraphale gasped at the small stings of pain from Crowley's teeth, and yet he grinned and gave another breathless groan, spreading his thighs further without thought, acknowledging the weight between his thighs that he had never really… acknowledged.

"I want to make you feel good," Crowley responded, pulling away for a moment and lowering himself until he was eye level with Aziraphale's knees, which poked out from the desk as he leaned against it. The angel was confused at first, until Crowley began to tug at the buttons of Aziraphale's trousers and the man's cheeks darkened by three shades of embarrassment.

"I-Oh, I, C-Crowley, I-"

He didn't want the demon to see. Although it was his choice what his body looked like, he feared his inexperience would be unattractive. The expression, however, that Crowley met with his was less than unimpressed. The demon looked like he was in his glory, than he wanted nothing more than to give pleasure to the angel. His eyes penetrated Aziraphale's and he grinned softly, leaning upwards and kissing at the base of the angel's stomach, finally getting the last button of his pants and tugging down slightly.

There was a distinct moment when Aziraphale did notice the pressure that had begun to build at the front of his clothing released, and he felt ridiculous for having an overwhelming urge to hide his face. His erection stood proudly in front of Crowley, taught and heavy, and Aziraphale exhaled a shaky breath, not knowing what to expect. He had never been… aroused before, angel's never really did this.

However, Crowley had been around the block a few times before, and he hummed with approval as his hand wrapped around the base of Aziraphale's length, squeezing it gently and feeling the shape of his partner. The angel strangled out a moan, surprised at the wave of pleasure that met with the action, and he could feel his arousal begin to throb with need.

"Oh…. oh f-fuck-" he swore, beneath his breath and yet he couldn't control it. He couldn't control that or the breathless wheeze that escaped his lungs when the damp exterior of Crowley's lips grazed the head of his cock, and the angel bucked his hips up unconsciously in a desperate attempt for more.

Crowley smirked, pulling his head back and making eye contact with Aziraphale again. God, his face, God. He thanked God for creating this angel, this one in particular. And he thanked what he had damned moments before. He thanked anything and everything for this perfect moment with this perfect man that he wanted inside of him- that he wanted to be inside of, that he wanted to fuck and be fucked by and be one with. He didn't know how to express anything except with actions in that moment. He wasn't particularly talkative.

"Just like that," he whispered, breathless, even as his lips barely touched the hot, red skin of the angel's arousal, "That face, Aziraphale, just like that-"

His tongue prodded beneath the head even as the demon took a small portion of his cock into his mouth, closing his eyes and squeezing the base with his palm a little tighter. Aziraphale's expression squeezed shut as he leaned his hips into the action, accidentally forcing more of himself into Crowley's throat than the demon had intended, but it didn't matter. He was ready. He was capable. And yet after a moment, he pulled away again.

"Crowley, I…. I've never felt this good-" The demon's head dipped down once again in response, wanting the angel to shut up and enjoy it, stop running your mouth, and he instead moaned out with a hoarse and raspy undertone, his thighs shaking in pleasure and anticipation. Aziraphale's length was wet with the moisture of Crowley's saliva, as the demon took all of him into his mouth, tightening his throat around all of him, all of him, wrapping his lips around his length and bobbing his head gently, letting the angel fuck his throat for a few seconds.

Years ago if anyone, even Agnes Nutter herself, had told Crowley that one day he would be between Aziraphale's legs, he would have first and foremost told you to fuck off, and then out of sheer curiosity asked Where would you ever get an idea like that? Maybe it had never really been off the table.

Tightening his mouth harder around the man's arousal, he sucked another moan out of the angel before settling back onto his haunches, removing his himself and letting the cool air sweep back in and leave him begging.

Crowley let out a raspy but satisfied sigh before slowly getting back to his feet, and yet Aziraphale looked unsatisfied, incredibly so, twisting his features even as his hand touched his own length.

"I…. was that it? I, I don't mean to seem… impatient, I just -"

The innocence written across Aziraphale's features was endearing, and Crowley wiped the moisture from around his lips off with the tips of his fingers, smirking and beginning to undo the front of his own belt buckle.

It was only then that Aziraphale noticed. Of course. He wasn't the only one with needs, with….

The mound beneath the rather tight jeans that Crowley wore distracted Aziraphale even as his own erection throbbed between his legs, and he reached forward to gently touch the demon's hips.

"God-" Aziraphale wrapped his heels around Crowley's legs, pulling him closer, taking it upon himself to finish the deed and unzip his pants, tugging them down and looking up and down between Crowley's growing arousal and his eyes, which seemed loving and yet amused at the same moment. Crowley's hand became tangled in the mess of Aziraphale's hair, and with a moment of pause, he pulled the angel to his feet, helping him to shed the remainder of his clothing before the demon could get to himself.

He wanted to see all of him. Crowley had never seen him… naked, he had only ever imagined what Aziraphale looked like and yet even though he wasn't anything remarkable, he was beautiful. Such a strong word, and yet Crowley couldn't think of anything else to describe him.

Aziraphale stood before him nude, his cheeks still burning red and the angel avoiding his gaze for a moment. He cleared his throat, reaching forward for Crowley insistently — not wanting to be the only one displayed — and yet the demon stopped him, taking another moment to admire.

"Don't be embarrassed," he cooed beneath his breath, smirking and licking his bottom lip.

Aziraphale was angelic, but that was to be expected. His skin was pale, almost effervescent, and although the curtains certainly did match the drapes, Crowley was impressed by how someone could be so muscular and yet so lean and slightly stocky at the same time. Aziraphale was shorter than Crowley and more defined. He suddenly felt a bit self conscious at the idea of getting naked in front of him.

"Please, my dear—" Aziraphale whined, and all that time he had been holding his hands in front of his arousal, almost trying to hide what Crowley had already excited. Aziraphale was unused to the feeling of such a weight between his legs, and when he removed his palms and instead reached out towards Crowley, a startled breath escaped him and a hitched moan crawled its way out of his lips when the demon's hand wrapped around his erection once more.

"You're more important," he impressed, squeezing his fingers into the flesh, holy shit he could practically feel Aziraphale's cock ache, and when the angel fell against his body, he sighed.

Their mouths found each other once more and Crowley couldn't lie. He needed Aziraphale. He needed stimulation himself - his own arousal was still hidden underneath layers of clothing, hot, hard, begging for release. The demon's hand ran up the expanse of Aziraphale's length, his thumb passing over the slit of its head and pressing gently, smearing precum on his digits. For once, Aziraphale didn't seem taken aback at the action, and instead he whined once more into Crowley's mouth, bucking his hips forward until his cock was trapped between them, pushing into Crowley's stomach and against his own, still trapped in clothing.

That was enough to do it for the demon.

He stopped so suddenly, pulling away again. Aziraphale hmphed in disappointment and impatience, shaking his head and finally reaching forward, grasping Crowley's shirt and hastily undoing each button.

"Please do be careful," the demon whispered, watching the helplessly aroused angel rip his clothes off. He pulled the jacket and button down off, running his fingers against Crowley's bare chest. "I don't want to - oh, JESUS—"

Crowley had never taken the Lord — or his son's — name in vain really, before today. He hated even saying the words. And yet as their bodies intertwined, as angel and demon became one and Aziraphale's hand palmed his cock through his pants, Crowley lost track and lost his hatred for everything divine for a moment. He wanted to worship Aziraphale — he was in awe of every fiber in the angel's being, he wanted to feel every inch of his skin and more than anything he wanted the man inside of him, he wanted to know what he felt like.

Aziraphale undressed him, pulled his pants down and whipped the belt across the room, the metal of the buckle smacking against a beam. Pulling down his undergarments, Aziraphale's mouth stayed connected with Crowley's, even as the demon gave an even needier moan into the angel.

He backed him into the wall, and then the couch, sinking down into the furniture in front of the fireplace in the back room, their naked forms growing sticky and trembling as they teased themselves. Twin erections brushed by one another even as Aziraphale fell back down into the cushions, breathless and turned on, he had never felt more aroused in his life — which was easy to say because he had never been aroused before — but it couldn't ever get better than this, he couldn't ever get harder than this —

"Aziraphale," Crowley groaned, leaning back on the angel's hips even as he found himself straddling him, the angel's length held captive underneath the demon's body, poking gently at his inner thigh.

Although Crowley was dominant — extremely so — his drive to see Aziraphale come, to give him the most pleasure he ever could spurred him further. His own arousal meant nothing to him in that moment. He just wanted Aziraphale to know bliss.

Just the weight of the other man on his hips forced Aziraphale to roll himself up into Crowley, trying to scratch an impatient itch that was pressing in his abdomen.

"Aziraphale, I-" He paused, and the angel paused as well, hands on the other's pointed hips — had Crowley always been this skinny? — and he appreciated the expression painted on his face. Desperation. Need. Absolute sheer, unabashed, raw desire, his short red hair messy and tangled around his ears, his face a light shade of pink instead of the stark pale it usually was. His chest rose up and down, heaving small breaths as he tried to catch up to where he was.

He was so acutely aware of Aziraphale's cock between his legs that he grinded his form against the man's arousal, leaning back and pressing his hands against the angel's thighs. Crowley's own length bounced lazily against Aziraphale's stomach as he watched the demon work, pushing his head back against the couch and screwing his eyes shut — holy shit this couldn't be right, it wasn't right for him to feel this good —- and before he could say anything, even to stop Crowley and ask him are you sure? Won't it hurt?,the demon was shifting, grasping Aziraphale's erection in his palm and guiding it inside of him.

Aziraphale's eyes widened dramatically and his mouth hung open in a silent scream, even as Crowley mirrored his expression. Of course, for a human it would have hurt, especially at the sheer size of the angel. But because of who he was and what he was, Crowley felt nothing but pleasure, nothing but the sensation of being filled by his lover.

He lowered himself into his arousal fully, adjusting to the sensation, and Aziraphale covered his own mouth with one of his hands, biting back a moan that almost choked out like a sob.

Crowley was warm and wet and tight and he felt so dirty for thinking all these things, for loving the way his body squeezed around his cock like he was made for him, like the demon was created just to ride him. And Crowley shared in his sentiments — as he gently rocked back and forward on Aziraphale's length, there was wave after wave of pleasure that greeted him, and he realized he would never get enough of this.

"Crowley, please, I—- I'm going to —"

He didn't want it to end so soon but it was so strong, such a powerful position and the demon had already gotten him halfway there just with his throat. Crowley, however, seemed immensely excited and amused at the idea of Aziraphale's orgasm, and he lifted himself up with his knees, spreading his thighs and pounding down hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small room.

It was met with a loud and glorious moan that finally forced its way out of Aziraphale, even as his hands gripped Crowley's hips and his ass, kneading the flesh as if he would die if the demon ever stopped.

What once had seemed so wrong to the angel now seemed so right, and it didn't bother him in the least how crude and unapologetic the scene was. Crowley's cock danced with the motion of his thrusts, and Aziraphale didn't mind in the least that his precum was soaking the skin of his abdomen. In fact, Aziraphale reached with his hand towards his length, stopping it in its path and instead wrapping a hand around.

"Oh, Aziraphale, you don't need to— Oh, fuck, I…..FUCK, I'm going to…. come—" He didn't want to finish before Aziraphale did, and yet he could feel the man's cock twitch inside of him as Crowley spoke, and the demon pushed himself down harder, fucking himself on the angel.

And yet at the same time, Crowley was bucking his hips forward into Aziraphale's hand, his length sliding gracefully between his fingers.

Aziraphale didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how to think, how to react, just that there was a spring-loaded sensation building in his groin and he was in immense pleasure, so good it felt like he would explode, so amazing that he felt like if Crowley ever separated himself he would die, like he would only ever feel complete being inside of the demon—

Perhaps it was the alcohol that still swam in his veins, or the idea that Crowley was sober as they did this. He loved him. He had always loved him and he knew that. He had wanted this for ages and yet he could never admit it to himself, all those times he could feel himself growing aroused at the idea of Crowley, whenever that stupid demon would wink at him or spread his thighs in the car, relaxing back into the seat - he could never have imagined it was because he wanted this.

Crowley smacked his hips down firmly into Aziraphale, and he could feel his cock bury itself into new places of the demon even as he bucked his hips up, hard, rolling his body beneath the other as a shattering moan —- practically a scream — exited Aziraphale's lungs. The demon felt his lover release inside of him, hot and wet, and he went limp for a second as they both enjoyed the sensation. It was a pressure that finally shattered, and Crowley was surprised how intensely hot he was inside of him, burning itself up as their heavy breathing filled the air.

And yet even as Aziraphale recovered from the feeling of his first orgasm, he noticed Crowley fidget on top of Him, his expression discontented and yet trying extremely hard not to show it.

"I…. I hope that felt good—" Crowley started, smiling and leaning forward, and yet as the both of them started to move and Aziraphale shifted inside of the demon, Crowley moaned hoarsely, his cock twitching imploringly, not yet finished and aching between his thighs.

"Crowley, you didn't…. you didn't finish, I'm sorry—" He felt bad suddenly, weren't they supposed to finish together?, and he immediately sat up, the demon whimpering again at the sensation of his now softening arousal still buried inside of him.

"You don't need to worry about it-" He began, almost defensively, embarrassed at how hard he was not inches away from Aziraphale's face. "This was for you… don't worry-"

He didn't want the angel to have to get him off, he could do it himself perfectly fine, but the expression Aziraphale made, as if it was his fault Crowley hadn't come yet made the demon quiver, and slowly he sat up, allowing the other to exit his body. The two shivered at the air and the feeling of being separated — neither of them liked it, especially not Crowley, who felt empty and yet still incredibly aroused, he could feel his orgasm sitting at the base of his stomach and he wanted it so badly.

"I can… I can do what you did—" Aziraphale started, pulling Crowley closer until the man's hips touched his lover's chest, his length mere centimeters from Aziraphale's lips. It was such a perfect view. It was so fucking perfect, and Crowley wanted to come so badly, and yet he couldn't let Aziraphale defile himself with his cock, he couldn't bear to watch as the angel wrapped both of his hands around it and squeezed hard — maybe a little too hard — but Crowley moaned loudly, bucking his hips forward against Aziraphale's mouth and —

He slowly entered Aziraphale, the angel's tongue fucking searing, and wet and sliding against the underside of his erection.

It didn't take much. And yet before he really could process it, Crowley whimpered and squirmed on top of the angel.

"Aziraphale, dear, I'm — fuck, I'm going to c-come, I…. your mouth—"

But it was too late. As Aziraphale grew in momentary confidence — they had only just started — the angel wrapped his lips halfway up Crowley's cock and the demon released, his seed burning in Aziraphale's throat. The angel retaliated and pulled back, his eyes watering, trying his best not to cough or choke or anything. He did remarkably well, swallowing and actually enjoying the taste of Crowley, enjoying his release and his orgasm even as the demon's desperate moans filled the empty space and he met his end.

"Oh, Christ—" Crowley stopped, trying to level with himself, he really needed to stop swearing. "I haven't…. that was the best one I've had in ages—"

And yet before he could say another word, Aziraphale was pulling him down, their lips connecting and Crowley slightly surprised. The angel needed affirmation, he needed a he demon to know that it wasn't just sex, It would never be just sex to him, and that he loved him more than he could ever know.

He could taste himself on the angel's mouth, and yet he didn't mind, and he closed his eyes, wrapping his hands around his lover's neck. The overwhelming tire that began to seep into his muscles forced him to collapse and relax against Aziraphale beneath him, their bodies melding as they found happiness in just holding one another.

It seemed perfect that way… just the two of them, in that little bookshop in London. And somehow, the cosmic scales felt balanced again.


End file.
